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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Express-coal on 2025-07-01 13:37:27+00:00.
Hey everyone, we're back with the next chapter of I Cast Gun, an Isekai without the fanservice!
The ongoing contest, "Our International Incident" continues! What is that, you ask? And how do you win?
Simple, get enough people to represent you in the analytics that you hold the majority of non-US based viewers. What do you win? For right now, bragging rights, but as always, that's subject to change.
The foreign markets crashed this week, with the British and Canada tying for second with a mere 6% apiece. No one knows what's caused this dip, but speculations continue to rise. We turn it over to Arthur for now, with the weather. How are things out there, Arthur?
Chapter 7:Southcross
The merchant city of Southcross bustled with a kind of controlled chaos that made Westlin feel like a village fair. It was at least ten times the size, and from the sheer noise and motion of the crowds, Arthur estimated twenty times the merchants.
Built into a natural bay along the South Sea, Southcross thrived at the intersection of dozens of lucrative trade routes. According to his “memory,” the docks moved more cargo in a week than some towns saw in a year.
As Drew collected his payment from the caravan’s sponsor, he turned and held out a small pouch toward Arthur.
“You did as much as I did, Arthur. More, really. I’ve never slept so well on an escort run.”
Arthur raised a hand, refusing it. “I can’t take pay for a job I didn’t take.”
Drew frowned. “But—”
Arthur cut him off with a small shake of his head, then softened it slightly. “Pay me back by helping me find some things I need. Supplies. Maybe paper and ink.”
That got Drew’s curiosity. “You write?”
“Sometimes,” Arthur said. “I prefer to draw.”
Southcross opened around them like a flood. Cobbled streets gave way to tiled promenades. Merchants shouted in a dozen dialects. Brass bells rang from balconies. Somewhere down an alley, a blacksmith hammered rhythm into iron like a war drum.
Drew led the way, still gripping his coin pouch like it might sprout legs and run.
“This place is insane,” he said, nearly laughing. “Westlin was quiet. This is… this is a whole different world.”
Arthur didn’t answer. His gaze swept rooftops, alley mouths, the subtle glint of knives on belts. He watched how people walked—quickly, eyes down, unless they were selling something. Watched how guards stood—comfortable near the docks, but tenser near the inland gates. He noted uniforms, accents, hand signals passed between couriers and hawkers.
Mixed population. High traffic zone. Smells like fish and coin. Expensive swords, cheap armor. More danger in what’s not being said.
Drew stopped at a food stall, admiring the skewered meat turning over hot coals. “Smells incredible. You want one?”
Arthur shook his head. “Later.”
Drew shrugged and bought two, handing one to Arthur anyway.
Arthur took it without comment.
As they moved on, Arthur clocked a man approaching—fingers twitching, shoulder angled. The bump would come hard, the touch soft. A professional.
Arthur met his eyes.
One look. Flat. Final.
Don’t.
The man peeled away, turning right to seek easier prey.
Arthur sighed. The Beretta 71 in his waistband would go unused again.
Good.
“There’s a scribe shop ahead!” Drew said, pointing at a swinging sign marked with a quill crossed over a rolled scroll.
Arthur nodded. “Lead on.”
They stepped out of the scribe shop, Arthur tucking a wrapped parcel under one arm—new supplies, good enough for maps and maybe, if time allowed, a sketch or two.
The noise of the city rolled back over them as they hit the street.
Arthur glanced around, then asked, “Where are we staying tonight?”
Drew stopped mid-step.
His face twisted. “Ah… crap.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“I forgot to book us a room when we got in,” Drew admitted, pressing a hand to his forehead. “First thing you’re supposed to do in a city like this. I just got so excited—”
Arthur started walking again. “Then let’s fix it before night falls.”
Drew hustled to catch up, still muttering, “Stupid, stupid, stupid…”
Arthur said nothing.
No sense in rubbing it in. The lesson was already doing the work.
The inn wasn’t fancy, but it was clean—thick wooden beams, glazed windows, and the smell of stew drifting from the common room. They paid for two beds in a shared room, plus meals. Ten copper for the night. Five more for food. Simple math.
Arthur made a quick tally.
One skewer, fifteen copper for the night, two or three more days like this, and Drew’s purse is empty.
Drew didn’t seem to notice. He handed over the coins and thanked the innkeeper like it was nothing.
They climbed the narrow stairs and reached their room—simple cots, shuttered windows, and a basin in the corner. No frills. Just rest.
Arthur closed the door behind them.
“Hey,” he said, drawing Drew’s attention. “You want to make more money?”
Drew blinked. “Uh… yeah?”
“Then let’s form a party,” Arthur said. “We can take better contracts. Split the pay. You’ll last longer with someone watching your back.”
Drew’s expression faltered. “Wait… are you sure? You’ve got an A-rank skill. I’ve only got a C-rank. You could join an elite party and make way more coin.”
Arthur shrugged off his cloak and set it on the foot of the bed. “Maybe. But they’d expect explanations.”
He glanced over at Drew. “You don’t.”
Drew smiled, a little uncertain, a little proud. “I guess not.”
Arthur sat down on the edge of the cot, already calculating how to use this next step.
Better pay. Better bait. And now a second pair of eyes.
He nodded once. “We’ll register in the morning.”
Next Chapter